Cold Feet
by Quicksilvermad
Summary: Sitting beside him under the blanket, Andrea could definitely tell he ran a little hotter than most people.


_**Warnings:**_ Set after "Secrets."  
><em><strong>Disclaimer:<strong>_ All rights for _The Walking Dead_ go to Robert Kirkman and AMC

_**Author's Note:**_The idea for this came from an observation I made of my own feet when I was falling asleep the other night. They get super cold—my mom and my sister have the same problem.

This is for SpringsteensGirl.

* * *

><p>It was surprisingly cold out.<p>

Summer was ending, and it was a bit of a shock to stand outside the RV (two plates of food in hand) and see her breath when she exhaled. Andrea swiftly walked the short distance to Daryl's tent and shivered when she was presented a bit of a problem.

His tent was zipped shut and both of her hands were occupied with grilled chicken on a pair of yellow plates. She couldn't exactly _knock_ with her foot.

She nearly dropped the food when the tent unzipped and Daryl, looking ten times better than he had in the morning, peered out at her with sleepy eyes.

"Ya gonna stand there or come on in?" he grumbled.

Andrea rolled her eyes and handed him one of the plates. "I assume you're hungry."

Daryl shot her a deadpan glare and she smirked as she crossed the threshold of the tent. "Close up, it's gettin' cold," Daryl ordered.

She zipped the tent shut. "Mind sharing one of those blankets?" she asked.

Daryl shoved a chunk of chicken breast in his mouth with his fingers and he tipped his head at the empty spot next to him. Andrea held back a smile when he finished chewing before he spoke at all. "Sit. But take yer shoes off. I don't want no more dirt in here."

Andrea pried her sneakers off and wiggled her toes. She hadn't bothered with socks when she got cleaned up that afternoon and the contrast of how her feet looked next to Daryl's made her feel slightly giddy. She crossed her legs when she sat next to him.

Daryl saw her blush in the light of his beat up Coleman lantern and, coupled with the way she sat beside him, he knew what happened between her and Shane.

They ate quietly side-by-side and Daryl supposed he couldn't really be pissed about anything she decided to do. From what Carol told him, Andrea was pretty amped about taking out her first walker on her own and he knew what the aftermath of a successful encounter like that could do to a person. He waited until they were both done eating before he started talking.

"That adrenaline high finally burn off?" he asked.

Andrea looked slightly guilty when he spoke. He wondered if it was because of the quiet tone he was using or the knowing look he cast her when she worked up the courage to meet his eyes. "Yeah," she muttered.

Daryl was still uncertain of how to act around her. She twisted his head up with those looks of hers and that little smile she'd fire at him for no damn reason. He blamed his follow up statement on that uncertainty.

"I thought you didn't even like him."

"Shane?"

"No, the fuckin' Surgeon General. Of course, Shane."

Andrea rolled her eyes yet again. "No need to be snarky."

"He's an asshole."

"You're not lying. He said some things to me today that…" she stopped and reversed course in her line of thought. "No. I don't like him."

Daryl didn't really understand how you could dislike a person and still have sex with that same individual, so he just shook his head and scoffed quietly.

"Look, can we change the subject?" she asked.

Daryl held his hands up in defeat and tossed the corner of his blanket around her shoulder when she rubbed her arms. "We shoulda raided that department store for winter clothes when we had the chance," he said. "It's gonna suck _ass_ when winter hits."

Andrea gratefully leaned against the heat of his body as he spoke and wondered if he was speaking from experience or conjecture. He didn't seem to own anything with sleeves. The only shirt she'd seen him wear that _did_ have sleeves ended up torn apart anyway. Sitting beside him under the blanket, Andrea could definitely tell he ran a little hotter than most people.

"Why are _you_ worried? You're like a walking furnace," she said.

He smirked and leaned against her shoulder. "Ain't ever heard any complaints."

Andrea smiled. "Oh, I'm not complaining. Just… Do you actually own a shirt that isn't sleeveless?"

They launched into a discussion about the things they grabbed when the shit hit the fan and Andrea discovered Daryl forgot to throw any undershorts in his bag when he packed. To be fair, she admitted that she only had one bra.

They'd been talking for over an hour before Daryl bit back a yawn. Andrea yawned as well and knew she _should_ leave and let him rest. She just wasn't quite willing to give up his company for the moment. It was really in his favor that he was so warm, too.

"Hey, do you mind if I crash here with you? It's cold out and I'm kinda already falling asleep against you." she asked quietly, looking at the tattoo on the inside of his forearm instead of his face.

Daryl yawned again, drawing Andrea's eyes to his chin. He rubbed the corner of his eye tiredly and shrugged. "Makes no never mind ta me. 'Long as you don't snore, we're cool."

She smiled and tossed his earlier words right back at him. "'Ain't' ever had any complaints."

Daryl snorted. "Look'it you. Stay on my right. Don't want ya smackin' my side."

They settled together and, as Andrea pillowed her head against his right arm, Daryl wondered how it was possible that she could lower his guard as much as she did. He couldn't see himself strolling through the woods with Carol or telling her about the time he learned what poison oak looked like the hard way. He couldn't see himself talking about stupid shit from before the outbreak with Lori.

Andrea, on the other hand, knew why she liked hanging out with Daryl so much. He was quiet, very funny once you started talking to him, and knew what was important in this screwed up new world. She sighed, finally feeling content after the weird day she'd had, and stretched her foot back in search of more warmth.

"Ah!" Daryl shouted and Andrea could feel his legs twist away from her.

"What? What happened? Did I poke your side or—"

"No! Yer feet are fuckin' _freezin'_."

She grimaced. "Sorry. Women just end up with cold feet when we're in bed. I don't know why."

Daryl started laughing. It wasn't his usual quiet laugh, either. His head was tipped back against his pillow and he was positively cackling. Andrea didn't think she'd ever seen him so animated. Or amused. He even snorted.

That was when she realized what she'd just said.

"Wait! No! I didn't mean it that way. You know I didn't mean it that way!" she sputtered and was sorely tempted to smack his shoulder, but he'd pulled her into the warm circle of his arms and tried to stifle his laughter in her hair.

Perhaps it was the cool night air or the fact that Andrea now knew that Daryl's sense of personal space got skewed when he was tired. Whatever it was about the moment, leaning up on her elbows and pressing her lips to the skin above the stitches she'd caused seemed like the most acceptable action she could take.

"What was that for?" he asked, not daring to raise his voice over a whisper.

"I dunno," she said honestly. "I guess… I guess it's because I actually like you."

Daryl didn't know what to say to that.

Andrea cleared her throat and settled her head on his arm again. As she drifted off to sleep, Daryl listened to her breathing and let the sound put him to sleep as well.


End file.
